


This Kid

by karmaskull



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 14:21:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5629549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karmaskull/pseuds/karmaskull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on Tumblr. Old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Kid

You're Dave Strider, thirty-three years old, standing just outside the door to your killer high-rise apartment. You’re not a complete jackass, so there’s a good reason why you’re debating whether or not to cross the threshold of the place you drop mad monthly dime on for the first time in three weeks, and that reason is your little Bro is most definitely in the building. You can hear the water running.   
He's not really your brother, but you are related biologically-speaking by way of an esoteric process of genetic reamalgamation. You don’t pretend to understand paradox space and all the freaky time shenanigans he's always ass-deep in, and you’re sure as hell not fucking around with it. Not in this life, ayway.   
But all that’s got nothing to do with why you’ve been avoiding him lately. Your Bro’s been a weird little dude since the day you brought him home which, well, you really shouldn’t be too fucking surprised considering he piggybacked into this world on a meteor that crashed fifteen years ago into your favorite arcade building. It was right after your teenaged self signed on to do your first SBAHJ movie. You felt like the man that day, the actual man everyone’s always talking shit about, taking care of your proverbial business, until you rounded that familiar corner of Houston to find a fiery pit of twisted metal and broken concrete and a fucking baby in a diaper sitting all up in the middle of it. A baby with blond, blond hair and bright orange eyes, just as strange as your own.  
As if you even doubted for a second, he grew up to be everything you could ever want in a kid, your kid, a fucking genius, not just a willing student of irony but, like, the fucking valedictorian of Irony U, and a card-holding member of the quality pokerface association. He's a bit more serious than you, you think, doesn't have the same flippant sense of humor and acid tongue that let you warm up even the coldest crowd, but he's way, way smarter than you'll ever be and you like to think that's one hell of a compliment. Besides, he does have your good looks, looks that are good enough that, when combined with his computer of a brain, more than enough make up for any talent for hyperbole.   
He's the pertfect protege, except ever since he could speak you’ve noticed he has a very unhealthy-type attachment to you. It was all innocent and cute when he was little, following you around the apartment, looking up at you like you were fucking Superman, and it used to make you kind of proud actually, but in the past few years, while other kids his age grew apart from their parents, it’s gotten serious.  
By serious you mean sexual. He doesn't come outright and say it, he's way slicker than that, but somehow whenever you're both home you end up in these ridiculously staged, sexually-charged situations straight out of a shameless incest hentai. Dirk’s always making double entendres, getting caught wearing girl’s underwear around the apartment, popping up accidentally even when the door’s locked while you’re in the shower, sneaking up behind you when you’re mixing beats or editing footage and sticking his tongue in your ear as some kind of joke. Except with him you know nothing is a joke, nothing's truly accidental. It took you a while, you were always slow to figure him out, but after years of the same tratment you've realized he maps out even the simplest converations days before you've even gotten the idea to talk to him. It's all carefully orchestrated, designed to turn you on and make you feel like a big, bad pervert while he plays the innocent little brother, compeltely unwawre of what's going on.  
You wouldn't be a Strider if you could address an issue directly, so instead of fighting with him about it or, god forbid, having an actual, forthright conversation, you’ve resorted to keeping your distance. Physically yes, but emotionally too, not that you’re a poster boy for friendships or sunshine and feelings as is, bhut you’ve rarely even called your little brother by his full name since grade school. The most you’ll offer up is that first letter you share, D.  
Sometimes you sit for hours and wonder what you did to screw him up so badly. It has to be your fault, you’re pretty much the only person he really interacts with besides his internet friends, and you highly doubt any of those dumb preteen fuckwits had anything to do with it. You try not to think about it too much though because the worst part, the abso-fucking-lute worst part of this whole thing is that despite the horrible knot of nausea that twists your stomach every time Dirk hits you with an inappropriate touch or comment, you actually kind of disgustingly, self-loathingly enjoy it.   
You realized this when he was eleven and you asked him to take a look at this graphic you were throwing together for your studio’s website. Something about the color, did he like red or blue, or some other perfectly innocent query. But you do remember when he stepped up behind you to look at it he'd leaned in over your shoulder, much too far in, and even though he had not one fucking time done it as a baby popped his whole thumb in his mouth and sucked on it while examining the computer screen. You fell for it hard, watched his lips where they wrapped around the digit and imagined his tongue cradling it inside. You continued to watch as he slowly, very slowly, pulled his thumb out of his mouth and said, warm breath on your neck, that everything looked just fine. You couldn’t stop looking at that mouth, how full it was, the beautiful curve of his cupid’s bow, his small, sharp white teeth. Your eyes roamed the rest of his clever face, his slender body.   
You kicked him out of your room as soon as you felt your boner pressing against the zipper of your pants. You didn’t masturbate because of him then, but you have since, on numerous occasions, although you always try to drown his image out with porn or a girlie magazine. Sometimes the distractions don’t work. Sometimes you can't even bring yourself to finish.  
Rose, who you don’t talk to much when you’re busy making bank and being a super successful billionaire, sleuthed you out one day like the fucking machine she is, when you were lamenting for the umpteenth time that Dirk was still apparetly lusting after you. “Dave,” she’d said, when she suggested you spend more time with the kid and you’d told her shit was serious and you’d tried that and he wasn’t just starved for affection, you heaped that shit on like a grandma giving out second helpings. “Are you sure you aren’t avoiding him because you’re afraid of what you might do?” And when you’d started in with a hell fucking no, she cut you off. “For as long as I’ve known you, the only person you’ve ever loved was yourself, Dave. Your whole life, no one’s come close to you. You're always right, always the smartest, funniest guy in the room. Accoridng to you, that is. And suddenly there’s your little brother, practically your clone, a mini-you, and he worships the very ground you walk on. I don’t have to explain it any further, do I?” You’d stayed chill, of course, and found a totally plausible reason to hang up soon after, but there’s still that nagging feeling in the back of your skull, spreading heat down your neck, whenever you think about what would happen if you let Dirk actually do those dirty things he says to you. What would happen if you lost control and let yourself touch him.  
So here you are, acting like the bitchest of bitches, staring down a door, about to punk out of going into your own home sweet fucking home. Buck the fuck up, you think, lowering your trademark shades and letting the eye scanner do its thing, allowing you access to the apartment.   
The water’s still running, not that it’s any comfort. Dirk takes some legendarily infinite showers, but what if you happened to catch the tail end of this one? You decide to tempt fate and head to the kitchen to grab a quick glass of apple juice before retiring behind the master bedroom’s door, which will remain locked and dead-bolted for the evening. That is not punking out for sure.   
You’ve just closed the fridge when the water shuts off. Fuck a glass, you’re getting the hell out of Dodge and drinking straight from the bottle. You do a perfect pirouette, but shit and shit, your little Bro’s standing in the doorway in sweats and his anime shades, toweling off his hair. How he got there so fast, you’ll never know. You stopped strifing with him years ago, partly because of that pesky crush thing, partly because you were getting your ass handed to you. At least you’re still a little bigger than him. You dread the day when that changes.  
“Dave,” he says, because he’s never called you anything different, per your request. “You’re back.”  
“What’s up, D?” You ask, one cool customer, so cool you must be lowering the room temperature by at least thirty degrees.   
He shrugs, and you think you might get off easy. Now if only he’d move his fat ass, and you immediately regret thinking fat ass because his ass is so pleasingly round you fucking pervert, you could exit stage left and call it a night.  
But Dirk doesn’t budge, he just lifts his chin at the juice bottle in your hand. “Are you actually, like, sticking around for awhile?”  
You’re tempted to say no, and pain your Strider soul with your complete chumpness. “Yes,” is what ends up coming out your mouth despite yourself. “But I have work to do, so…” Wow, lame save, with the non-specific trail off. Still, he knows what work to do means. Fuck off.  
But he doesn’t. Instead he does something you’ve told him time and time again never to do unless it’s really fucking necessary. He takes off his shades, pushes them up onto his head, and looks at you with those bright eyes and sticks out his bottom lip.  
You should not ask, but you do. “What is it?”  
“I have this homework I was hoping you could help me with.”  
Seriously? That’s what he’s going with? Nice try, you think. Little jerk is slipping. There is no homework any high school professor anywhere could give that would trip up your little Bro. “Well whatever it is, man, I’m sure you can handle it.”  
“I guess,” he says, and tilts his head down at just like, the puppiest of all angles.  
Oh Jegus. That look. So fucking disappointed. It’s probably all an act but do you really want to risk adding ten points to your worst parent ever scorecard by ignoring it? Goddamn.  
“Okay,” you say. “Lay it on me.”  
He doesn’t look up from the floor yet, because the kid is damn good and he knows he doesn’t have this one on lock just yet. “No. It’s fine.” Here a less experienced child con artist would heave a heavy sigh, way too fucking dramatic, but Dirk just slumps his shoulders down a degree nearly invisible to the naked eye. And your heart, you sucker, sinks with them.  
“Come on. You know I’ve always got time for you.” What a fucking liar.  
The corner of his mouth flickers into a smile for just a second and you wonder if that’s planned too or genuine. “Okay. Let me get it.”  
You really hope, as you watch Dirk leave the kitchen, that he’s not gonna come back wearing sexy lingerie. You guess you might as well pour that apple juice while you’re waiting. You get a glass for yourself, and one for him. As you’re filling up you noticed he’s made some modifications to the toaster. It appears to have a Kill setting now.  
He comes back with a paper, not panties, and a DVD in his hand. He hands the paper to you and you read that Dirk, and his classmates in freshman English, have to watch a film based on a short story and write a report describing whether or not it’s a successful adaptation. Your little Bro’s been assigned Memento.  
“My teacher’s this ambitiously sensitive guy, seriously, he goes out of his way to be sensitive and wants us to have genuine, sincere feelings about everything always at all times. He tries to actually like, connect with students. He’s really into the ones he calls gifted but troubled.”  
“Like you?” you ask.  
“No. Girls who write shitty poetry about not getting invited to prom."   
"Sounds about right.”  
“He just thinks I would like this because I’m your kid and you make movies and this is like, to him, the most avant garde piece of cinema on the planet. He probably spent three hours choosing per kid.”  
“Sounds about right. Again.”  
“But I want to write the best paper he’s ever seen. I want to come out of the blue with this masterpiece of sensitivity. Some pivotal scene affecting me, the lighting, or a song choice, touching me in such a special way I’ve decided to reexamine the world and how I see it. I want this paper to make his life. I want this douche to feel like he fucking knows me, knows my soul, to want to frame this thing and hang it on the refrigerator in his heart, with his favorite fucking magnet. I want him to caress the goldest of stars lovingly into its corner, dog-eared from the repeat readings he’s gonna stay up all night just to get through. So I figured you could help me.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. You’re the best, Dave. You’re like the ironic Pupa Pan and I’m in need of your pixie dust.”  
Ah, pride. You decide to ignore the weird Pupa Pan reference, you swear you showed that kid every single cheese-dick Disney movie when he was little, and just bask in the warm glow of it. Not only did your little Bro just express his desire to so righteously fuck with a teacher’s fragile mind in a way your own thirteen year old self would have so righteously fucked with a teacher’s fragile mind, but he also asked for your help. Because he needs it. Hopefully.  
“Second star to the right, little Bro. Next stop, Neverland. Or some shit."   
He smiles big, and you try to believe it’s for real this time. "Great. I’ll go put the movie in. You’re going to watch it with me, right?”  
“Sure,” You say, because even though you've seen it , it was a long time ago and you honestly can’t remember a thing about it. Bad idea, you think. Still a bad, bad idea. “I’ll be right there, just gonna get outta this suit real quick. Take these in with you.” You hand him your juice glasses and follow him out of the door. He hangs a right for the living room, while you head in the opposite direction towards your bedroom.  
By the time you make it back, the previews are playing and Dirk’s parked on the leather couch, remote in one hand and a dark green smuppet in the other. Smuppets kind of freak you out, you’re not sure if it’s the noses or the rumps, or the fact that one day he sent you a picture of himself with one in a compromising position, but seeing him clutching it to his chest absentmindedly now is hella cute in what you hope is a totally innocuous way. It’s not. Damn, you know it’s not.  
Little bastard’s sitting dead center in the sofa, so no matter which end you choose you’ll be closer than you want to be. You consider an armchair, but despite being hella high class the living room isn't that big, and they're kind of at a bad angle to see the tv screen. If Dirk’s being as authentic as your wishful thinking would have it, you don’t want to let on to your suspicions. You sit to his right, keeping as much distance as you can between you. He doesn’t protest, or try and lean on you, or sneak his head under your arm like he normally would, and you take that as a sign you have at least a small portion of the luck tonight.   
So when Dirk, halfway through the movie, stretches out on his side and throws his feet up into your lap, you don’t think too much of it. Okay, that’s a lie, it makes you nervous as fuck, but a chapter passes and his eyes are still glued to the screen, and you get your back down and relax a little.  
You almost don’t notice at first, it’s like waking up from a dream when you do, but suddenly two-thirds into the movie you realize Dirk’s feet are moving in your lap. Over you crotch. Maybe he’s just getting comfortable, you think, but when he brushes your limp cock purposefully a second time and the friction gives you the beginnings of a chubby, you grab his ankles and turn your head to face him, knowing he can read your intentions through your aviators.   
You should have gotten up fucking fifteen minutes ago, when your little Bro first put his feet in your lap. He stares back at you now, and continues to move his left foot, his range of motion limited now that you’ve got his ankles, but he’s still got enough give to sort of lightly stroke you with his toes.  
You let him continue for a few seconds until it becomes clear you are not winning this staring contest.  
“D,” you say seriously, pushing his feet off your lap and picking up the controller to pause Memento. “What do you think you’re doing?”  
“Trying to give you a foot job.” His reply is just as serious, and you’re taken aback for the thousandth time by how very fucking brazen this kid is. It never ceases to amaze you.   
You stand, leave the couch, and head for your bedroom where you fully intend to throw on clothes and head out for the night. “There’s something very wrong with you,” you say, loud enough for him to hear, more disappointed than angry.  
Dirk gets up onto his knees on the sofa and leans over the arm, calling to your back, “Dave, what did I do? Dave. Daaaave.” And you whip around to face him, cross the distance you’ve just put between you in one long, quick step, grab his face in your hand and bend down so you are eye-level. You whip off your shades, hook them in your shirt, and then carefully remove his from his face and toss them onto the couch over his shoulder. Eye to eye, man to man.  
“Dirk,” you say, your voice low and quiet and as dead fucking serious as you can make it. "You have to stop doing this shit.“  
He doesn’t say anything.  
"It’s fucked up, Dirk.”  
His eyes are glassy and wet.  
“Are you crying? Are you fucking going to cry?”  
Dirk squirms out of your grasp and sits, back against the couch, and hides his face in the crook of his elbow.   
“You are. You’re crying.” You run your hands through your hair and, unsure of what to do, sit down next to him. His shoulders are shaking, and you think you just heard a sniffle.  
“Fucking seriously? I didn’t even yell at you.”  
And yeah, you can really hear it. Full blown sobs.   
Now you feel like crap. You shouldn’t, but you do. You try to put your arm around him, but he pulls away and fuck you if that isn’t like an arrow to your heart. Kids suck. Kids fucking, fucking suck.  
"Hey,” you say. “Come on. Come here.” You hold out your arms but he just keeps crying. “Please?” you try again, and success, he turns to you and lets you hold him.  
You alternate between stroking his soft, clean hair and rubbing his back while he cries it out. You feel weird, and you kind of lose yourself for a moment, zoning out, not thinking about anything. It reminds you of holding him when he was young, crying about little things, less complicated things, when you didn’t have to think about his problems, when they were just that easy, a bad bruise, a broken toy. When you were the one who made sure those problems were solved with something as easy as a hug and a shoosh, not the one who caused them.   
It’s so clear now how sick it is, the fact that you’ve been secretly getting off on Dirk’s obsession with you. That you’ve been looking at him like he’s attractive to you. You don’t know what this is, if he’s fucking with you again, trying to manipulate you as usual, or if he truly is having some kind of mental breakdown here, but either way this is beyond screwed up. He hasn't freaked the fuck out like this, real or fake, for ages. You know you have to do it, tell him right now there is no way there could ever be anything between you and him. Tell him right out it will never, ever happen. Stop indulging your own sick fantasies. You’ve been putting it off, maybe you really did believe in some capacity that avoiding Dirk would help this problem, but you were wrong, and you know now what has to be done. You should have stopped all this as soon as it started but you’re such a selfish prick you got off on the fact that your smart, talented kid brother, the only person who you’ve ever truly enjoyed being with, no exceptions or caveats, loved you and wanted you so badly he’d do just about anything to get your attention, for just one look.  
When Dirk stops shaking, when you only can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest, you separate yourself from him and take his face in your hand again, but gently this time, thumbing his chin. You tilt his head up, looking directly into his eyes. D, you’re about to say, but he interrupts you, voice thick and throaty from crying.  
“Why don’t you love me?”  
Damn. You’re still second-guessing him and wish for a moment you had one of those hippie commune style households where people are open with their feelings and there are no mind games, no head trips. Because if he is acting, doing all this just to get your fucking goat, you do not want to play into that hand and get sappy. You want to be clear here, to put an end to all this tonight. It’s gone on far too long, obviously, for both of you. All your fault, of course.  
You go for honesty, with restraint. “I do love you, Dirk. More than anything.”  
“No,” he says. “I know that. I know you love me. I guess I mean, why don’t you love me that way. Like I love you?”  
“You cannot possibly love me that way. You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”  
“Yes I do.”  
“No you fucking do not. You are fourteen years old.”  
“I’m not really like any other fourteen-year-old and you know it.”  
“D, please.”  
“It’s true. You’re the only one I–I guess it doesn’t fucking matter anyway."   
"What doesn’t matter?”  
“How I feel. You don’t care. You think I’m disgusting.”  
You sit in silence for a moment and you make what is probably the worst decision in your life. Instead of saying yes, Dirk, you’re gross, I’m not attracted to you at all, so stop hitting on me it makes me violently ill, your chest tightens and you feel for him, and you want him to know you think he’s really fucking beautiful.  
As noted before, you aren’t a complete jackass, so you manage something a hair more appropriate. You move your hand so his cheek is resting in your palm, as you say, 'I don’t think you’re disgusting.“  
"Okay, fine. Whatever. But you don’t want me. You don’t even want to touch me. This is the first time you touched me in forever.”  
“I don’t understand how you’re not getting that me not touching you has anything to do with how I feel about you.”  
You watch Dirk’s face as he pieces that jumble of words together. “What?” he asks, and you get the feeling it’s because he wants you to say it again, wants you to slip up, say what you’re dancing around, not that he doesn’t know what you mean.  
You decide not indulge him. “I mean it doesn’t matter how either of us feels. Nothing can ever happen between us.”  
His gaze lowers, he’s looking at the floor. He’s eerily still for a few moments, before speaking again, quietly. “I wouldn’t tell anyone. You wouldn't get in trouble.”  
Your heart jumps. A million one-second thoughts race through your head at the same time. You’ve always assumed some judgement part of Dirk's brain was broken, that he just doesn’t understand what he’s feeling is wrong on so many levels. You didn’t know he at least realized how socially, how legally unacceptable it would be, for you especially. Does that change anything, you ask yourself, ashamed that one of those million thoughts was a hope that him knowing would somehow make the impossible okay. Sick, sick, sick.  
“That is the least of my worries,” you say, taking back your hand and folding it with your other in your lap. “I’m worried about you. Not other people.”  
He crosses his arms and turns his head away. “Spare me the parental bullshit.”  
“What?”   
“Why are you treating me like a little kid?”  
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because you are a kid?”  
“I’m pretty damn mature.”  
“You sound pretty damn immature saying that.”  
He gives you a look, and you take a deep breath before speaking again.  
“What do you want from me?” you ask. You are beyond frustrated. “You want me to fuck you? Is that really what it’s all about? Me fucking you?”  
He nods. “Yeah. And I know you want to fuck me too.”  
Your face flushes.  
“See? You can’t even say no. Because you know I can tell when you’re lying. We both want it, so why not? Don’t fucking say society or something like that, because you don’t have any trouble straying from the norm in any other situation.”  
You don’t say anything, so he continues. “I know you think you’re going to fuck me up or fuck up our relationship, but our relationship is already fucked up. I mean, I want you. I’m young, okay, I know, but I’ve wanted you for a long time. You're the only person I ever want to talk to or be with and hang out with, and I think you feel the same way about me, unless you keep lying to me about all your Hollywood friends and stuff. You found me because we were meant for each other. Let’s do this. If it feels wrong, we won’t do it anymore, okay? Once and done, it’s out of our respective systems. That’s all. If you let this go, I’m just gonna keep wanting you and you’re gonna keep avoiding me and it’s gonna fuck us up even more anyway.”  
You still can’t find words. Dirk uncrosses his arms and lays his palms flat on his lap, staring at the backs of his hands. “Can’t you at least admit it? Say you want me? I fucking know it’s true.”  
Holy shit. What do you do? Get this off your chest? Is he right? Get it out of your system and move on? Will just saying it, bringing these thoughts to light be enough? You swallow hard. “Yeah. Okay. I do. I want you. You turn me on, D. All that stuff you do, it turns me the fuck on. But–”  
Something stops you. He can’t control his smile and it’s possibly the sexiest thing you’ve seen him do. That’s a real, genuine, pleased as fuck Dirk Strider. No games. You just made him happy. You just made him break his cool. You are the only person in the world that can do that.  
He moves. Wordlessly he climbs up onto the couch, on his knees, and moves closer to you. Your heart stops beating, you sit very still. Your head feels heavy, full of pressure like it’s in a vacuum. He’s still smiling. He places a hand on your shoulde and stretches one leg over your lap, straddling you. His face is so close to yours, but he’s looking down. He grips the front of your t-shirt with both hands, biting his lip. Your breathing is very slow and very loud.  
Eyelids half-closed, he goes to kiss you but stops when your lips are almost touching. He seems nervous, which is also earnest and endearing as hell. You have a raging hard-on for your little Bro. You know he can feel it. It’s all out in the open now. What’s the point of holding back, Dirk? It’s happening. You fucking cannot take it and roll your head back. The noise you make is somewhere between a whimper and a moan.  
“If I want you to stop tonight,” he says, “I’ll tell you.”  
Damn, that fucking heavy feeling. You feel drunk, weak. Your desire snowballs, gaining momentum, while your resistance all but evaporates. Your head still works, your common sense and whatever is left of your conscience are clearly telling you to cut this the fuck out, it’s insane, but every other fiber of your being is screaming that it’s too late now. Just go along with it, it can’t get any worse, right? It can get much worse, says your brain. Your body tells it to take a fucking seat.  
You whisper, “If I start now, Dirk, I’m not going to stop.”  
He tilts his head to the side and relaxes his mouth again. This time his lips meet yours and you kiss once, one simple kiss. He pulls back then kisses you again. And again. You touch a palm to the nape of his neck and rest the other on his waist.   
His lips are soft, so fucking soft. Yours are slightly dry, and you enjoy the friction you’re creating between you. You take over and plant three small kisses, trailing from one corner of his mouth to the other. You hover, just barely touching, but Dirk, impatient, leans in and uses his lips to part yours. He slips the warm, wet tip of his tongue inside you. You cup the back of his head with the palm of your hand, forcing him closer, gently sucking his tongue in further. He tightens his grip on your shirt and you slip further into your fog. You tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling, sucking his tongue, letting him explore your mouth while you enjoy the taste of him.  
When you’ve had enough, you push back, forcing a role reversal. You tilt your body forward, thrusting your tongue in and out of his mouth slowly at first, then aggressively. He loops his arms around you, leaning back, using your neck and shoulders to support himself. You press your tongue deeper, running one hand around his lower back, the other still gripping his hair in a way that must be slightly painful, bucking up your hips to give him a better position on your lap. His ass slides directly over your dick. Fuck it, you cannot wait to get these pants off.  
You break the kiss and sit up straight, pulling him with you. He tries to kiss you again, but you force his head back by his hair and lay your lips against his neck instead. You want to suck, to bite, to use your teeth, but you resign yourself to non-bruising kisses, up and down from his collarbone to his chin. He still smells like soap from the shower, fresh and clean, and his skin is warm to the touch. You want to make him even warmer.   
“Mmmm.” Dirk’s moaning is more “keep going” than “that feels good” so you force his head to the side–he groans at that, you think he must like you being rough, being in control, and that turns you on more than you thought would be possible–and you lean your mouth in, over his ear.  
That time he’d snuck up behind you and did the same to you, you shamefully let him go on for a a while without stopping. You had been slightly drunk, returned home from a party very early in the morning, and you were chilling on this exact couch watching a little TV and trying to debuzz before hitting the sack. He was so quiet you didn’t know he was even up and about when he started. He’d delicately rimmed your ear, softly slipping in and around the cartilage, and you realized right then and there, dick rock hard, just before you stopped him, that you liked it. Really, really liked it. Of course, it may be less because you're into getting ear fucked, more because you'd let him lick you anywhere he damn well pleased, but still. It's a fun little memory, one you've used for masturbation fodder more than once.  
Now is the time to return the favor, only you show much less restraint. You tongue Dirk’s ear just like you were tonguing his mouth: forcefully. You swirl your tongue, thrust it in, move, suck his earlobe, and bite on it. He tenses, tries to get away, but your fist, balled up in his hair, keeps him steady until you deem it’s the right moment to move your lips to his and crush his mouth to yours again. He sucks your tongue eagerly this time.  
Both of you are breathing deeply now. You feel his chest rise and fall and it makes you want him out of that t-shirt. You grab the hem and start lifting it, and he straightens, stretches his arms above his head and lets you take it all off for him. While you pull the shirt over his head, you’re treated to a uninterrupted view of his bare chest, his round, pink nipples already hard and just waiting for you to play with them. Your dick twitches.  
He ducks out of the shirt and you let it fall to the ground. He tries to kiss you again, but you stop him, running your hands over his smooth chest. You glide your palms over his stomach, his ribs, his nipples, his collarbone, over his shoulders, and back again. You go slowly, calmly, and he mistakes it for hesitation, trying to take of one of your hands and guide it lower, but you hold off. You use your feet on the floor to push your crotch up into him, pinning his wrists to his thighs. “Let’s go to my room,” you say.   
Dirk nods. You free his hands and you both stand. You’re pitching a major tent in your tight jeans, which makes it a little difficult to walk right. He fares better in his sweatpants, and you watch his impressive ass switch side to side as you follow him to your bedroom. He pauses outside the door, waiting, you guess, for you to let him in. That makes you smile.  
Your room is very clean and organized, on the account that you aren’t there all that often. You tell little Bro to take off his pants once inside, and he complies. He’s wearing these hot pink undershorts that are keeping his bulge pressed tight against his body. “Pink?” you ask, but he just shrugs and smiles. “They're cute,” you continue.  
But honestly you don’t find it all that cute, the tight fit makes them pretty sexy actually. Uncomfortable in your own pants for far too long, you undo your belt buckle as Dirk climbs onto your massive bed. “Hold on a second,” you say, pulling the belt through your belt loops. “Did I tell you to lay down?”  
He shakes his head, and you beckon with your finger for him to return to the edge of the bed. You tell him, “Stand,” and he does, facing you. You motion for him to turn around.   
His briefs have to be a size or two too small. His ass is straining the fabric. You take your belt, double it up, and hold the buckle end in your hand. You slowly run the leather strap up the inside of Dirk’s thigh and over the curve of his ass. You lightly tap it against him a few times. You pull back, and without warning, flick your wrist so the belt snaps hard against him.   
He doesn’t flinch, but he does arch his back and roll his shoulders. Sticking his ass out like he wants it again. “Oh, you want more,” you say, and smack his ass with the belt again, harder. He purses his lips and leans forward, resting his elbows on your mattress, bent over for you.  
You hit him again, even harder. You do it four or five times more in quick succession, harder each time, and finally he opens his mouth and makes a weak little noise, not much, but enough for you to know he felt it.  
You drop the belt for now and decide to exercise your hands for the moment. You follow the same line up his thigh that you traced with your belt, using just enough pressure so he can feel your index finger trailing up his sensitive skin. You trace between his cheeks, and under the elastic of his underpants. You spank him lightly, appreciating the jiggle, then spank him again, turning it into a grab using both hands, one on each side, thoroughly enjoying the ample amount of flesh you’ve got to hold onto. You imagine how good it’s gonna feel when your balls are slapping against that ass, when your fucking Dirk missionary-style with his legs thrown up over your shoulders. You step up right behind him, hold his hips, and grind your crotch into that ass, dry-humping him.  
You are wearing far too much clothing, so you lift up your shirt to remove it and while you do, Dirk crawls onto the bed, turns, and unbuttons your jeans. You let him pull down your zipper, peel open your jeans, and slide them over your hips. He looks up at you, and you don’t say anything, so he reaches into the opening in the front of your boxers and finally frees your throbbing erection.  
He doesn’t do much at first, just sort of stares at your dick, holding its base in his warm grip. “Well?” You ask. He just keeps staring, so you reach out your left hand to cup the side of his head, grab your dick with your right and tap it repeatedly against his face forcibly enough that he gets the picture. Hard enough that he turns his head to the side for you. “I want your fucking mouth,” you say, rubbing the head of your dick on his plush lips, spreading a drop of precum. “Let’s go.”  
Dirk swallows and moves forward. You step as close to the bed as you can. He tightens his grip around your base and leans in, kissing the head of your dick, kissing it slowly, then kissing the shaft, both sides, the underside, before using the tip, just the tip of his tongue, tracing a long line from your base up the center of your shaft up to your head. He gently licks your slit, traces your ridges. He kisses again, covering your whole dick, this time adding a little sucking. After that round he incorporates his tongue again.  
This kid, you think, is totally playing you. The little cocktease, building you up like this, taking your light dominant shit like he doesn’t know what’s going on. When he finally, finally parts his lips and takes in just half of your whole head, swirling his tongue around your tip, you cannot believe how good it feels. “How the fuck do you know how to suck dick so well, D?” you ask, inwardly cringing at how much your giving yourself away.  
He backs off, smiles, and says, “Porn.” You grab a handful of hair and pull his mouth back down on you, trying to not think about the hunch that it probably has more to do with smuppets. His tongue circling your cock helps you forget. He sucks you harder, moaning, and you can feel the vibrations down your entire shaft.  
His lips slide pass the ridge, and having your entire, very sensitive head inside Dirk’s warm, wet, mouth, sucking you with a tortuously perfect amount of pressure, is enough to make you wanna blow your load down his throat. You pull out quickly. A string of saliva, maybe a little precum mixed in, runs from his pink lips, swollen and even plusher now, to your tip. You force him closer by his hair again, wiping your dick on his cheek. You let go of his hair and step backwards.  
“Panties off,” you tell him, pointing at the floor. Your jeans have fallen to your ankles, so you step out of them and carefully pull the waistband of your boxers over your erection while Dirk stands and slowly removes his briefs. He’s looking at your eyes the whole time, but you can’t help yourself and stare at his dick. He is obviously just as turned on as you are.  
You and Dirk finish taking off your boxers and your socks, and you pull him close, wrapping your arms around him, kissing his face. Your dick is rubbing against his hipbone, sliding over his smooth, pure white skin. You suck on his lower lip and grind against him. You uncurl an arm from his waist and reach up to tweak a nipple. You pinch it between your forefinger and thumb, rolling it between the two digits, squeezing lightly.  
You feel Dirk’s cock rubbing against your inner thigh. “You like that?” You ask. He nods. “Want more?” He nods again, burying his face in your chest. You double up, and use both hands to tease each of his nipples at the same time. You use your thumbs, flicking them back and forth, rubbing them in circles. You pluck them, feeling them get harder with every touch. "Like a little girl, " you say, rolling them again, squeezing, twisting. Shit, you didn't mean to say little, but he seemed to like it. You twist harder and he digs his nails into your side, enough to hurt you. He’s making the most delicious noises.  
They make you want his mouth again, so you place one hand on his shoulder and the other on his head and push him downwards. “On your knees,” you say, and he kneels, sitting his ass back on his heels a bit. He looks up at you, keeps eye contact as he takes your head into his mouth, wrapping his lips around your shaft and using his tongue to caress your skin, sucking you. He’s pulling your dick into his mouth at a downward angle, which hurts a little, but since you're a sick fuck also feels kind of awesome. You bend your knees, try to slide further down his throat, straighten, pull back out, and repeat.  
He tries to accommodate. There’s not much lubrication so you can feel his lips dragging along your shaft as you slide in and out of his mouth. Slowly you work almost your entire length in and, your dick touching the walls of his throat, Dirk’s mouth starts watering. He bobs his head and the friction disappears, replaced with tight, slick thrusts. He relaxes, takes even more of you in. You can’t believe how much of you is disappearing each time he bobs his head. It’s so warm and soft inside him, you have to consciously fight the urge to pound him. If you had your way you’d probably break his jaw.  
Using your thighs, gripping you just below your ass, pulling your body closer and forcing your cock as far down his throat as your length will allow, Dirk is back in control now and you almost lose it. He is taking you all in, down to your base. His lips are literally crushing against your pubic hair with each thrust and you know, you just fucking know this kid, your thirteen-year-old little fucking Bro has had a dildo or something, maybe a goddamn fucking smuppet nose in there, down his throat, practicing like a dirty slut, waiting for the day he’d finally be able to suck you off.  
Time to pull his hair again. He knows what it means now and drops his hands from your thighs as you drag him up to his feet again. His eyes are watering from deep-throating you, so you wipe his face roughly with your hand before covering his mouth with your own again.  
While kissing him you step forward, pushing him back until he hits the edge of the bed and is forced to sit down on it. You bend, grab his slender hips, and direct him back to your pillows. He lays, legs spread for you, and you crawl between them, kissing his face, his mouth, his neck, and his chest.  
You tease his nipples with your tongue, sucking on them, biting them, blowing on them. He squirms under your body, pushing his crotch into you, and you know you should reward him for all that top quality dick sucking. “Stay there. Don’t fucking move,” you say, detaching yourself from him and making your way to your private bathroom. You retrieve your supply of lube from your medicine cabinet and, seeing it sitting there, you decide to bring your silicone cock ring.  
“Fucking told you not to move,” you tell Dirk when you come back to find him palming his dick. You hold up your findings. “Look, I brought you a present.”  
He strokes himself deliberately, twisting his fist around his shaft, and you smile. “For me or for you?” he asks.  
You shake up the lube bottle, pop open the cap and squirt a healthy dose into your palm. You rub your hands together, getting them and the cock ring nice and slick. Goddamn you wish you could use it on him, get that pretty cock of his even harder, but he’s not the one who’s gonna have his dick in a tight, sweet virgin ass. You are, and you wanna last long enough to thoroughly enjoy it.  
“It’s for me. You think I’m hard now, wait til you see me with this.”  
He watches you as you lube up your own dick and slide the cock ring down to your base, where it almost instantly takes effect and you can feel the excess pressure building. You kneel on the bed, take your dick in one hand and Dirk’s in the other.   
You continue to jerk off yourself and your brother, pumping slow, but with a firm, tight grip, just the way you like it. Dirk seems to like it too, he cannot stay still, squirming, his chest heaving, moaning. It’s driving you insane. With the cock ring, everything feels so tight, and you want to be inside him. You want it badly.  
You know you’ve got to prepare him first, so you coat your palms with lube again before resuming position between Dirk’s knees. One hand palming your own cock, you use the other to circle his hole. You want to tease him, but you just can’t stand it and you push two fingers inside him at once. Dirk's hands are up by his face, he’s grabbed a fistful of his own hair. You curl your fingers, stroking his walls.  
He is not ready, but you insert a third. He moans, tries to close his legs around you. You work in, up to the third knuckle and it’s driving you up the fucking wall, feeling his entrance tighten around you.  
You remove your fingers. Your balls feel like they’re going to overflow any second. You add a bit more lube for good measure, line yourself up, and prepare to enter your little Bro. When you say, “Dirk,” he looks up at you and you try to muster an apology. “I’m sorry. This is probably gonna hurt.”   
“Do it. I want it. Fuck me, please. Please Dave. Please,” he says, eyes wild, and again that fucking loss of cool, him totally out of his mind for you, sets you off and you need him, you need him so badly. Titling your hips, you push yourself in.  
The lube makes sliding past that tight, tight ring a little easier, and you don’t stop until you are almost all the way in. It’s too good to stop or stay still, so you pull out and thrust gently back in again and again and again. Dirk’s doing well, he’s dead silent and his face is screwed up in concentration but he’s not trying to force you out or get away from you and because you’re such a fucking perv you find that face, that pained face, to be incredibly sexy. You can’t hurt him in a fight, but you can hurt him with your dick. Your incredibly hard dick, in his incredibly tight hole.  
You keep going gently, working up to speed, and he relaxes. He bites his lip, unclenches his fists, starts twisting his body again, even moaning. You take this as a sign to slip your final inch inside. You thrust a little harder. You move closer to him, pushing back on his legs.  
While you’re thrusting, Dirk reaches up behind his head, underneath your pillow, and retrieves the green smuppet he’d had in the living room before. What the fuck, you think, but then you remember his killer flash step and realize he must’ve gotten it when you went for lube. Pissed, you hit it harder, hard enough to make him wince, but it doesn’t stop him from taking the smuppet, wrapping its plush body around his hard dick, and rubbing it up and down all over his shaft and head.  
He’s using two hands, two fists on the smuppet that’s curled around his dick, pumping it up and down much quicker and harder than your thrusts. You take this as a challenge. You pound that ass, driving your dick as deep inside him as you can manage, you just keep fucking him raw. Your balls, so fucking tight, slap against his ass with every thrust. You slide a hand up his stomach, over his chest, over his nipples.   
“Dave,” Dirk says, more like moans, really, and suddenly you stop, pull out, move, and sit down on the edge of the bed. He's confused until you motion for him to join you.  
Carrying his smuppet, a wild look in his eyes, Dirk tries to straddle you but you stop him and inform him that you want him to turn around, and ride you in reverse. This way you’ll have a perfect view in the very large mirror that hangs on the opposite wall.  
And shit if that’s not the fucking sexiest thing you’ve ever seen, Dirk sliding onto your cock and you can see it all happening, in detail. You can also see his hard nipples, his one hand gripping your thigh for balance, the other curled around the smuppet, pumping his dick. Best of all you can see his face as he bites his lip and moans your name, Dave, Dave, Dave, over and over.  
His thrusts on top of you are shallower than yours but it feels nice just to be in the warm tightness of him, especially when he starts swiveling his hips. God that feels fucking good. His lips, your name, goddamn that feeling, all that warmth wrapped around your shaft, squeezing your base, massaging your dick, your head rubbing his walls, all that squeezing and warmth and damn damn he just keeps saying your name and pounding his dick and you can see him, and he’s fucking coming, coming for you, his big brother, all over the smuppet and his fingers, some of it falls warm onto your thigh, your Bro’s come and you feel it, you feel yourself coming too, releasing deep inside of Dirk, you feel like you’re coming forever.  
He rides it out while you throw back your head. Fuck. FUCK. Still euphoric, you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him back onto the bed with you still inside of him.  
You lay there, kind of spooning him like that, all sweaty and sticky and gross, but you feel so good coming down off your sex high. When your giddiness dies down, you pull out, remove the cock ring and place it and the lube on your bedside nightstand. Dirk rolls onto his back and is staring at the ceiling, holding the come-stained-beyond-repair smuppet on his stomach.  
As if you are a responsible guardian who didn’t just bust a nut in your ward, you have the audacity to tuck an errant strand of hair behind his ear and ask, concerned, “Are you okay?”  
But Dirk just smiles snuggles a little closer to you, and says, “Yeah. I think so.”  
You let him clean up in your bathroom and, after you change your sheets and follow suit, you decide to let him stay in your room for the night, cuz why the fuck not, what’s it mean now? His eyes light up and you realized you haven’t acted this genuine around each other in ages.  
With lights off, you find yourself stroking Dirk’s hair yet again, and you tell him, nervous, “It might be weird between us, tomorrow morning.”  
You feel a lot better when he sits up, kisses you, and says, “Nah. I think we’ll be just fine.”  
And you believe him.


End file.
